Touch and Go
by GoldSeven
Summary: Peter has been shot by Danko, so what happens between Nathan flying him to safety and the next scene on the rooftop? Filling in the gap in episode 3x19, "Exposed". Rated T for language and injury to characters. One shot. Canon.


**Characters**: Peter, Nathan, Angela. I had originally intended to write this from Peter's POV, but wouldn't you know it, Nathan took the limelight in a heartbeat.

**Set**: Towards the end of 3x19. "Exposed", just after Peter was shot by Danko.

**Sparked by**: A forum thread in which I wondered when and by whom Peter had been treated although he certainly hadn't been in hospital. There were a couple of questions I really wanted answered. A lot of conjecture on my part is involved, too, of course. And probably not enough medical knowledge. Doesn't add any shocking new perspectives to the show, but was a lot of fun to write. :)

**Disclaimer**: Heroes is the property of Tim Kring and a bunch of other awesome people.

.

.

.

**Touch and Go**

They'd been here so often before that Nathan had almost lost count. _Had_ lost count if you included the times in which the roles had been reversed.

Ingratitude wasn't a new one, either.

"Set me down!" Peter panted, the way he was clinging to Nathan's shoulder with his right arm belying the words. "I said set me _down_!"

Nathan slowed, spied a rooftop surrounded by high walls and a roof garden that would be certain to shield them from any prying eyes, and managed a relatively smooth landing. Peter staggered a few steps away from him and straightened with difficulty, arm half outstretched, in a gesture that unmistakeably told Nathan to keep a distance. He was cradling his other arm, his left, and Nathan saw something protruding from his chest. _Son of a bitch_, he thought furiously as he remembered Danko leaving with his sniper rifle.

"You're not healing," he remarked to Peter.

Peter shot him an angry glance that said _Tell me something I don't know_, but his stance became somewhat less belligerent as he steadied himself against the wall behind him with his free hand, looking down at himself with a grimace.

Nathan took a few cautious steps towards him. His brother wasn't healing, which baffled him to some degree, strengthening his assumption that something about Peter's ability had changed. But that didn't mean Peter wasn't going to fly away at the first opportunity, and Nathan couldn't risk letting him getting away again.

"We need to get you to hospital, Pete."

Peter snorted a humourless laugh. "No way. Back off, Nathan."

Nathan tried again. "Look, I know you're a nurse. Paramedic, sorry. I'm sure you could handle this somehow. But it doesn't have to be that way."

"Not going to happen. You and I both know I'd have a tube up my nose before they could even remove the bullet. What you gonna do, Nathan? Turn on the warning klaxons in the ward to keep me from escaping?"

"Right now, I want to handcuff you to a hospital bed and throw away the key!" Nathan retorted.

"Try it," Peter challenged. "Go right ahead." Nathan remembered that the extent of Peter's mind-reading power didn't stop there, but enabled him to make Nathan do pretty much everything he felt like, if he put his mind to it. He suddenly found himself trying to remember when exactly he had decided that it had been a good idea to land on this rooftop.

He went through several possible angry replies to this in his head – and couldn't shake the feeling Peter was listening in on each and every one of them – and decided to go for the sincere approach.

"Pete – I know you're mad. I know." He held up both hands in an apologetic gesture. "This whole thing didn't go as planned, and I've made terrible mistakes. But you need to listen to me. You can't run forever." _I thought I had everything under control, could make sure these powers don't hurt anyone. And that nobody _with_ these powers gets hurt either. But I'm losing that battle, Pete. Now your and Parkman's actions have even brought Noah Bennet over to Danko's side. I can't protect you if you continue to run._ _And continue to mess up my operations. _

A fleeting grin crossed Peter's face, but before Nathan could figure out what had sparked it, his brother shot back, "You really still expect me to just let myself be taken in by your squad again? Forget it, Nathan. If I stop running, it's not because I'm letting myself be captured. I told you I was going to fight you with everything I've got. And that was before you drugged me in my own apartment. You think I've mellowed since then? Think again."

"Dammit, Pete! In the past week, you nearly got yourself killed three or four times – how long do you think it'll take before they bring you down?" Nathan had started pacing, still keeping a five foot distance between him and Peter.

Peter laughed incredulously. "_I've_ been trying to get myself killed? A week ago, I'd just successfully settled back in something resembling a normal life. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life drugged into submission just so you can sit back and tell yourself you saved your idiot kid brother's life."

Nathan drew a hand over his face. "Pete, I compromised everything by saving your life when you fell off that building. All I'm asking you is to listen to me."

"I'm done listening to you." Not taking his eyes off Nathan, Peter slowly sank to a sitting position by the wall he'd been leaning against. He flinched as he gingerly fingered the end of the projectile protruding from an inch below his collarbone. Cautiously, he pulled his jacket off his shoulder to examine the wound more thoroughly. When Nathan started to walk towards him again, Peter's glowering look kept him away.

Nathan threw up his hands in exasperation. "You'd think _I_ shot you."

"Instead of your bloodhound you can't keep on a leash. I don't know what's worse." Peter let out a hissing oath as he tentatively gave the projectile a tug.

Nathan's mobile rang.

Both men eyed each other warily as Nathan fished his phone from his overcoat. "Petrelli. – Ma." He saw Peter relax slightly, but not completely. Of course. Peter didn't trust anyone right now that hadn't been on the transport plane in an orange suit.

"It's all gone wrong, I assume," Angela was saying. It was not a question.

"Peter's been shot. I'm with him." He left the rest of his involvement vague; he harboured no illusions she'd know anyway. "He's all right. Or will be."

"Danko." Again, not a question.

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

Nathan looked around to orient himself. He hadn't paid much attention while he'd been flying. "On a rooftop. A few blocks from Lincoln Park. Near the corner of Eleventh Southeast and North Carolina Avenue."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Nathan knew better than to dissuade her. "Can you stop by a pharmacy on your way here?" he asked with a sidelong glance at Peter.

"What do you need?" Angela asked.

"Bandages – probably some disinfectant…" he trailed off as he saw Peter wordlessly extending his hand for the phone, and heaved a sigh as he handed it to him, to give their mother more detailed instructions of what he needed.

He wasn't surprised that Angela had got off the phone by the time Peter gave it back to him. With a sigh, he switched it off and pocketed it again.

Peter leant his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Nathan couldn't help but think that he looked terrible. A week on the run had taken its toll; the injury was doing the rest. Peter was pale, his eyes bloodshot as if he hadn't slept properly in all this time.

"Pete." Nathan came slowly closer. "Are you sure you shouldn't be in a hospital?"

"Yeah." Peter still looked wary, but seemed too exhausted now to keep up his hostile demeanour. Or he was finally convinced that Nathan wasn't going to suddenly carry him off. "Shot must've gone between the first two ribs but missed the lung, or I'd know by now."

Nathan looked around on the rooftop in the vague desire to help. "There's a bench back there. Come on, let's get you over there. Better than sitting here on the floor."

Peter got up with difficulty, but on his own, and slowly followed Nathan over to the bench. Nathan suddenly saw he was shaking.

"Wait." He took off his overcoat and put it around Peter, careful not to jostle his left shoulder. Peter cast him a strange look but acknowledged the gesture with a terse nod before sitting down. Nathan considered for a moment sitting down as well, but then chose to remain standing. Both were silent for a while.

"You going to remove that yourself?" Nathan finally asked quietly, with a nod at Peter's shoulder.

Peter hesitated for a few moments before he said, in a carefully neutral tone, "Not the best angle."

Nathan just nodded, started to make a reply, but then decided against it. As sorry as he felt, contrite had never come to him easily. Guilty had never come to him easily. Except once in his life, and he was determined not to let it come to that again. Right now, he found it was more difficult than usual. So much had happened in the previous weeks, things had spun so totally and completely out of control, and for once, he didn't find it in him to take any offence at Peter's sullenness. As a matter of fact, he didn't even see it as sullenness. Nathan had to concede that Peter probably had every right to be as mad at him as he liked.

But that wasn't going to do any of them any good. Perspective was what was needed here. If Peter thought they could take care of the wound out here, that was one thing; beyond that, Nathan was determined to make Peter see reason. He couldn't keep running for ever. Much less in his current condition, and with all his associates gone one by one. Peter's only hope now was to rely on Nathan to protect him. Granted, Nathan hadn't done a particularly convincing job protecting him recently, but it was really the only choice he had.

These thoughts came to Nathan before he could stop himself, and again, he found himself wondering whether Peter was reading his mind. At least it didn't look as if he was. Peter sat hunched on the bench, staring at the floor before him, either lost in his own thoughts or in too much pain to deal with much else. Or at least conveying a convincing impression of it.

Damn.

Angela Petrelli arrived some time later, looking completely incongruous in her immaculate coat and with a pharmacy bag under her arm, and at the same time, as always, managing to appear as if this was just the way things were meant to be. How she had found the right building so quickly on just the slender information Nathan had given her was anyone's guess, but he wasn't in the mood to guess. And it didn't really matter.

Angela seemed to assess the situation within seconds of her arrival, refraining both from reproaches for Nathan and an excess of overt worry for Peter, for both of which Nathan was grateful. He had been half-prepared for worse.

Peter mumbled a low greeting and let himself be pulled in a brief and careful hug, but Nathan took notice of the fact that he didn't warm significantly to her presence either, but remained reserved as she assessed the contents of the bag she'd brought. "I tried to get some stronger painkillers, but without a prescription, there wasn't much I could do on short notice."

Peter shook his head. " 's okay. I'll manage." He pulled several packages of gauze bandages, compresses, disposable latex gloves and medical tape from the bag, along with a cardboard box from which he gingerly extracted a bottle with his right hand.

Angela took a look at the end of the projectile in his shoulder, only lightly touching his left arm, and then turned to look at Nathan.

Nathan gave a little cough as he slowly walked up to the bench again. "Right. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Peter didn't look at him as he handed him several packaged rolls of bandages. His voice was so low that Nathan had to lean closer to understand him. "Try to get it at the same angle it went in. You press these on the wound soon as the bullet's out. A few minutes should stop the bleeding. I can dress it myself." He gave him the package with the gloves. Angela wordlessly took Peter's right hand and gave it a light squeeze.

Nathan crouched down to examine the projectile for the first time while putting on the glove. He noted with a satisfied nod that it was a typical sniper round, with a capped end that would make it easier to pull out than the smoother surface of a regular bullet.

"Okay. You ready?"

Peter nodded tersely, jaws working, and he closed his eyes as Nathan tried to get a firm hold on the projectile. Nathan pulled, trying to make the movement as steady and even as he could to keep secondary damage to a minimum.

It didn't come out, although he had managed to move it; his fingers slipped, and he cursed.

Peter half-doubled over with a strangled gasp, then visibly pulled himself together and sat back again, with a nod at Nathan to proceed, breathing hard, his eyes still closed.

"Hey," Nathan said as he searched for another secure hold, trying to think of something that might distract Peter somewhat. "Remember that summer you got a splinter in your foot on the boardwalk? You refused to let Dad or me go near you and pull it out, said it'd come out on its own. You were, what, four or five? You spent the whole afternoon hopping on one foot before you allowed me to pull it. Dad teased you calling you 'Oh my darling Clementine' for days."

Peter completely and utterly ignored him.

Nathan caught Angela's slight shake of the head and guessed bringing up their father had probably not been the smartest idea. He sighed and wished Peter would at least look at him, acknowledge his presence.

_Just get it over with, will you?_

Nathan set his free hand against Peter's chest for a better hold, and pulled again. This time, the bullet came free, followed by a gush of blood, and Peter doubled over again, his sudden intake of breath coming close to a sob. He got a grip on himself once more as Nathan firmly pressed the thick roll of gauze against the wound, sagging slightly as the pain lessened under the pressure.

"It's okay, Pete. It'll be better in a minute." He realised that this was a rather stupid thing to say to a paramedic, but Peter still made no reply. Nathan had to admit that it was no small feat to completely ignore somebody pulling a bullet from your chest, but Peter had mostly managed it.

Nathan tentatively eased the pressure after a few minutes, but switched to the second wad of gauze when the wound continued to bleed more than he felt was safe. The second time he removed the roll, five minutes later, the wound remained reasonably dry.

Peter shakily picked up the packages of compresses. "I take over from here." He looked a lot worse for wear, Nathan thought as he got to his feet again and watched Peter gingerly proceeding to dress the wound, with some help from their mother with opening packages and ripping off tape. It irritated him that Angela was by now ignoring him about as pointedly as Peter was. Granted, warming up that old story hadn't had the desired effect, but for Christ's sake, he'd only wanted to help.

He started to pace again as Angela helped Peter fasten a pouch type sling for his arm around his neck, and Peter leant back on the bench, staring into space.

Angela sat next to him in silence for a while, then she lightly brushed a strand of hair from his face. "Are you all right?"

Instead of an answer, Peter finally did look at Nathan, with an expression that clearly said, _No, but that's _his_ fault, not yours._

Oh yes, Nathan thought sourly. Peter had always been good at this kind of thing. 'Just look at me, poor little me, but look how brave I am, I'm not complaining.' It was the story of their lives. Annoyed, he said, "It was just a scratch; he'll be fine."

"What do you want, a thank you?" Peter said, finally giving up his stony silence towards him. "Why are you doing this, Nathan?" God, he really had no clue just what risks Nathan had taken by flying to catch him. Again.

"Do what?" Nathan asked. "Saving your life? Trying to save the world?"

"Perhaps there's a better way of doing it," Angela spoke up, quietly. So now they were not talking about saving Peter's life any more, but about saving the world. Fine. He knew he'd screwed up, and he wasn't going to back out of that.

"Ma, I … said this didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted it to, okay, no more of that. There's a lot of different agendas going on."

"Yeah, all leading to killing us," Peter said, his voice hoarse. "You realise you're responsible for that?"

"Yeah," Nathan said defensively. "It's out of control, and it's my fault. I'm trying to fix it. In fact, I'm the only one who _can_ fix it."

Peter gave a snort. "Why's that, because you're one of us?" he challenged.

"Because I'm the only one who really cares if you're alive or not, Pete!" Nathan shot back, and from Peter's expression, he could tell he had finally struck a cord. Poor, idealistic Peter. He had probably assumed that, the instant his vid went on the evening news, people would be queuing up to establish a civil rights movement that protected people who were capable of blowing up their neighbourhood with a fart.

Perspective, Nathan reminded himself. Not accusations. Act like adults, not like quarrelling teenagers. "Come with me. Okay? And I promise you'll be treated well."

Angela was not convinced. "Don't do this, Nathan…"

"It's okay," Peter said, with a conciliatory gesture, but not taking his eyes off Nathan.

"Ma, please. – You have my word," he added, returning Peter's gaze. He was aware it would not be easy, guaranteeing Peter's safety against people like Danko, who would just jump at any opportunity to kill any specials in their grasp. But he was going to find a way.

_Are you reading my mind, right now, Peter? Go ahead. I have nothing to hide_.

He held out his hand.

For a few long heartbeats, Peter stared at it, then up at Nathan. Finally, pointedly ignoring Nathan's proffered hand, he got up from the bench with some difficulty.

"I know you'll take care of me."

"I will," Nathan replied. Thank God. He was finally seeing reason.

"Because you love me." There was something strange about Peter's eyes as he said this, something that was hard to grasp. He looked disillusioned, and Nathan felt for him more than he had the whole evening.

"Pete, I'm just trying to help."

"Yeah." Peter seemed to struggle with himself for a while longer, but then, he finally let Nathan pull him into an embrace, resting his head against his brother's shoulder.

For just two seconds, Nathan thought that a good portion of world order had been restored, and felt confident that he would be able to restore the rest of it, somehow. Then, Peter took a tiny step back, murmured, "Bye, Nathan," and took off into the night sky.

"_Pete_!" Nathan bellowed, flabbergasted, so completely taken by surprise that it didn't even occur to him to fly after his brother immediately. Peter hadn't been as fast as he usually was. It would he hard to see him in the dark, but he wouldn't be hard to catch up with.

"Nathan, don't!" Angela shouted, gripping his arm to keep him on the ground.

"You give me one good reason why I shouldn't go after him _right now_!" Nathan said, furious.

She gave him her most intensive, and maddening, stare. "Because the game has changed… I've seen it. And you need to be ready."


End file.
